Twisted Hearts
by TheWallsWeBreakThrough
Summary: "You can't wait to pin him to the ground, your knees pressed into his shoulders, a long sharp blade to his throat... You might be merciful, but you don't think so. Cato will die and he will die at your hand. You will make sure of it." The story of a very twisted teenager from District 2 and her incredibly irritating district partner...
1. Your Name Is Clove

_Okay, this is a Cato and Clove twisted romance set during the 74th Hunger Games. I haven't decided yet if the ending is going to be happy or not... I'm sure we'll find out anyway ;) But whatever happens, this story is AU and neither Katniss Everdeen nor Peeta Mellark will win. Sorry. But that's how it's gonna be._

_I've never tried writing as Clove before, and I've discovered she's a blast to write. Especially in second person. It just makes it more twisted somehow..._

_Please review, I'd love to hear your thoughts... and be sure to check out my other Hunger Games fan fiction which are both Finnick/Annie stories and full of fluff and loveliness (although there's quite a bit of angst, heartbreak and arena action for the more morbid of my readers) But yeah, I needed a break from the mind of self depreciating, kind, cute Annie. (Although I love her to bits) And well, Clove is her complete opposite._

_Anyway, enough babble, my lovelies, and on with the twistedness... __Enjoy xx_

_DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hunger Games or any of the characters in this story. They all belong to Suzanne Collins._

* * *

_..._

* * *

Your name is Clove.

You are very nearly sixteen years old.

You are District 2's resident teen lunatic, but you like it that way.

Yesterday, you volunteered as tribute for the 74th Hunger Games. You had to fight for it and some might call you crazy, but you don't care. You have nothing to lose and _everything_ to gain.

Right now, you are on your way to the Capitol. You could be dead within a week, but you don't think so... You fully expect to walk out of that arena alive and _victorious_.

_Nothing_ will stand in your way.

When you state this out loud, your district partner rolls his blue eyes.

"I wouldn't count on it, _Clove_."

The way he says your name makes you want to punch him. He talks to you like you're a child. You draw back your lips in a feral snarl but he only chuckles.

So damn _arrogant_.

You can't wait to pin him to the ground, your knees pressed into his shoulders, a long sharp blade to his throat... You _might_ be merciful, but you don't think so.

Cato will die and he will die at your hand.

You will make sure of it.

* * *

_..._

* * *

Enobaria and Lyme - District 2's mentors this year - make you watch the other reapings. You get bored very quickly and begin amusing yourself with deciding which of the other tributes you most want to kill.

The girl from District 1, of course. She slinks on stage, golden hair glistening, lips pouting, eyes sparkling. You hate her straight away. You hate her even more when you spot Cato eyeing those slim curves on screen appreciatively.

You entertain the thought of killing that hulking great boy from District 11. You could do it from a distance definitely... close range, of course, would be trickier, but _much_ more satisfying.

And then the girl from 12. Katniss Everdeen. You dislike her the moment she leaps from the crowd, wide eyed and screeching _I volunteer_ over and over like a flipping banshee. You realise she may be a threat the second she regains her composure and a steely determination settles in her eyes. You know you have to kill her when Enobaria voices what everyone else seems to be thinking.

"Now _she_ could win."

* * *

_..._

* * *

You don't like the Capitol.

You hate your stylists, you loathe your mentors and you _detest _Cato.

His new found hobby is getting under your skin and for a beginner, he demonstrates great skill in doing so. That _smirk_. You've been close to snapping at least twice and you've only been stuck with each other for six hours.

If he wasn't so bloody gorgeous you might be able to stand it. But as it is, he's so perfect, it's untrue.

Those light blue eyes the colour of a sunny sky... that rough, untamed hair the colour of a sandy beach... that slow, self satisfied smile when you scowl at him...

It makes you sick.

Still, the Capitol people love him. And for some reason, they like you too. They chant your name like a prayer when they see you during the chariot ride. You revel in the screams, bask in the glory...

That is until the crowd suddenly falls silent and you realise they are all staring, dumbfound, at something far behind you.

It's then that you see them onscreen.

District 12... on fire.

On. _Fire._

And then the crowd are no longer cheering your name. They're screaming _twelve, twelve, twelve_!

You see Cato's jaw tighten. He's furious. So are you. You realise you've lost the cameras. Whilst before they were focusing on you and Cato – the glint of your golden armour under the sparkling lights – now, all you can see on the screens around you is _her_.

And then a new chant arises. A new name.

_Katniss! Katniss! Katniss!_

Anger, frustration and jealousy pulses through your blood.

You are here to win. You are here to kill. And nothing – no one – will stand in your way.

Least of all _Katniss Everdeen_.

* * *

_..._

* * *

After the chariot ride, back in his room, Cato smashes a vase and kicks over a table.

You watch him, eyebrows raised, a taunting smirk already on your lips.

"What are _you_ looking at?" He spits when he notices you in the doorway.

"A fool." You reply smoothly, stepping inside and shutting the door. He looks like he might smack you one.

"I'm going to kill her!" He snarls, turning and slamming the bedside lamp into the floor.

"I assume you're referring to Katniss Everdeen." You say coolly. "But, forget it. She's mine."

He points an angry finger in your direction.

"I'm going to kill you too!"

You laugh at that.

"I'd like to see you try."

He has you pinned up against the wall in less than a second.

"I could crush you." He growls, pushing the heel of his hand into your windpipe. "I could crush you like a _bug_."

"You could." You admit, irritated to find you're more than a little breathless. "But you won't."

His eyes narrow.

"Give me one reason."

"Because, _Cato_," You hiss. "The Games haven't even started yet and I'm telling you now, you're bloody lucky they haven't."

"Is that so?" He asks, although the pressure on your windpipe decreases somewhat. You glare at him.

"_B__elieve_ me, Cato," You snap back. "If they'd started, you would have been dead before you'd even _moved_."

He holds your gaze for a moment or two and then suddenly, he chuckles. You glare at him, because you weren't being funny. You meant every word.

"Oh Clove." He says, releasing you and stepping away. "Have I ever told you before how cute you are when you're angry?"

You're so affronted you could kill him right here, right now.

"If you had," You manage through gritted teeth. "You wouldn't still be _breathing_." And then you turn on your heel, flinging the door open and storming through.

The last thing you hear before you slam the door shut behind you is his loud, raucous laughter, echoing around his bedroom.

* * *

_..._

* * *

You enjoy training.

You like the sound of your knives thwacking into the bullseye of every target you aim at. You love the appreciative nods of the trainers. You _adore _the look of abject terror you see in the eyes of every tribute you deign to glance at.

Enobaria and Lyme insisted you and Cato set about creating a Career Pack. You rolled your eyes when Cato immediately suggested that girl from District 1, but you go along with it. You don't need an alliance, you're sure you could win single handedly... but a Career alliance will be formed, with or without you, and that pack will get every scrap of the cornucopia's treasure. You think of the endless supplies of weapons from previous years and you know you want them.

And so, when Cato goes over to speak to the kids from 1, you follow, your nose crinkling in disgust as that girl starts flicking her blonde curls and fluttering her ridiculously long eyelashes. You find out her name is Glimmer and you're torn between sniggering and throwing up.

You actually do laugh when the boy tells you his name is Marvel.

What is _with_ District 1? Seriously_._

"Clove, right?" Marvel asks, holding out his hand. You eye it like it just crawled out of the gutter and after a second, he pulls it back and tucks it self consciously into his pocket. You eye him coolly.

"You are correct." You say loftily.

"You looked pretty good in that chariot..." Marvel eyes you with unconcealed interest and you let out an ungainly snort of disgust.

"Don't even think about it." You warn him but he just grins. He has a rather toothy grin, you think idly.

"Can't stop me." He replies cheekily.

"Not yet." You say, adding him to your mental list of tributes you want to kill. You hear Cato guffaw behind you, apparently listening in on your conversation whilst still managing to flirt with that tramp from 1. (Who says men can't multi-task, eh?)

Marvel, however, does not seem fazed. He glances between you and Cato.

"I assume you two came looking for an alliance..."

Glimmer beams at you and you fight the urge to retch.

"We did." Cato says, nudging you. You roll your eyes but nod.

"We wanted to know what you'd both offer to an alliance." You add.

Marvel tells you of his skills with a spear. Glimmer babbles on about her being an "all rounder".

"Fine." You cut her off, tired of hearing her voice. "Consider yourself part of our alliance."

"_Your_ alliance?" Marvel questions.

You smile.

_"Mine."_

* * *

_..._

* * *

By the end of day 1, you've also recruited both tributes from District 4. Neither are particularly special, but they'll be perfect for guarding your supplies whilst you and Cato hunt the other tributes.

During day 2, Cato tries to persuade you to recruit the huge boy from 11. You don't particularly want him in your alliance... you've seen him practicing with a huge sickle shaped sword, slicing and hacking dummies into pieces as proficiently as Cato. He's too good, you'd have to watch your back too much if he was around.

"Why won't _you?"_ You snap when Cato mentions it for the fifth time. He shrugs.

"I just think he'll respond better to a girl."

You bark out a laugh.

"Send Glimmer, then."

Cato snorts.

"She's an airhead. She'd forget what she went over to ask him about."

Of course you smile at _that_.

"Fine." You say. "But I can't promise anything."

And so you head over to where 11 is chucking a couple of knives around. Not bad, you think, not as good as you, but still, not bad...

He notices you watching him.

"What do you want, 2?"

You cock your head thoughtfully.

"Thresh, isn't it?"

"What's it to you?" He says rudely. You fake offence.

"I was merely being polite."

"Well, don't." He replies shortly. "Are you looking for an alliance?"

"I am." I inform him. He turns away and throws another knife. "Relax your elbow a little more." You tell him when he fails to hit the bullseye. He tenses.

"I don't need your help, 2."

"Well, answer me then and I'll leave you alone." You say with an irate little sigh.

"No."

"What?" You smirk. "You won't answer me?"

"My answer," He turns, hatred in his dark eyes. "Is _no_."

You shrug.

"Fine, then. Your loss." And then you turn and stroll away, back towards an expectant Cato. You don't need to glance over your shoulder to know that Thresh is staring after you.

"What did he say?" Cato asks as you near, his eyes still on Thresh.

"No."

Those blue eyes zero in on you, narrowing ominously.

"What did you say to him?"

You hold your hands up innocently.

"Nothing. I just offered him a place in the Pack."

"He looked like he wanted to slaughter you on the spot."

You snicker.

"I just gave him some advice on knife throwing. He didn't take it very well."

"Clo-ove!" Cato turns your name into two syllables and you know he's irritated with you.

"What?" You glare at him. "It's not like you really wanted him in our alliance."

"He's too good to be on his own." Cato crosses his arms like a petulant child.

"He's too good to work _with_ us." You shoot back. "He's a _peasant_, Cato. How the hell can we trust him?"

"You shouldn't trust _anyone_ in the Games." He says.

You smirk at him.

"You trust _me_."

"No, I don't." He replies sharply.

"Yes, you do." You tease. "You do trust me, because you know the final battle will be between us..." And here your voice lowers, almost seductively. "And you know that neither of us would miss it for the _world_."

* * *

_..._

* * *

_Well... I hope you enjoyed that. Clove is a twisted little girl, isn't she? Man, it's so fun tuning into my psychotic side ;)_

_What do you think of second person by the way? Does it work? If you don't think it does, let me know... I may make this first person yet. It's my first story in second person so I'm a bit nervous... (also let me know if I've slipped into first person at any point already... I had to catch myself a couple of times writing this)_

_Anyway, please review (I do love reviews) and hope you stick around for the rest when it comes xx_


	2. A Different Kind of Games

_So, the next chapter for you. I've decided to keep the 2nd person, it's fun to write... and different too. Oh and just a note, I've gone with the film's training scores for the Career tributes, since I don't think Katniss mentions them. Personally, I wouldn't have given Glimmer a 9, since in the book at least, I think she's pretty useless, but well, whatever._

_Enjoy xx_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Cato or Clove or any of these characters for that matter. It's a shame, but it's true._

* * *

Training is probably one of the best experiences of your life so far.

The endless supplies of _glorious_ weapons, the terrified stares of the other tributes, the hesitant compliments from districts 1 and 4 whenever you hit the bullseye... although Cato just laughs at you on the odd occasions you miss.

The evening of training day three is the evening of your private sessions with the Gamemakers. You aren't nervous and neither is Cato.

Whilst you wait with the rest of the tributes outside of the gym, you eye them interestedly.

Glimmer is shifting anxiously from foot to foot, tapping her perfectly manicured nails against her thigh. Your gaze moves to Marvel, and after a second, he catches you looking at him. He shoots you a wink and you roll your eyes.

You are _so_ going to kill him.

Glimmer is called into the gym then, and your focus locks onto District 12. The boy – blonde and strong looking, but a total sap – is leant forward in his chair, his arms resting on his thighs, his eyebrows lowered into a nervous frown. And the girl – _Katniss Everdeen –_ just sits quietly, her grey eyes raised heavenwards, her expression contemplative. _Oh_, how she irks you. You can't work out why, but she just makes you want to hit something.

Speaking of people who make you want to hit something...

"Nervous?" Cato whispers teasingly, his lips brushing against your ear. You jerk away, glaring at him.

"Of course not." You snap. "I'm the best here."

He smirks but in his eyes, you see real irritation. He can't stand it that you're just as good as he is.

"I wouldn't start planning your victor's celebrations just yet, sweet cheeks."

You stamp on his foot. Hard.

You're satisfied to see the killing machine that is your district partner's nose twitch and forehead crease. His teeth clamp together and only you hear the small grunt of pain that slips through them... And then he straightens up and leans back in his chair, arms folded, jaw tense.

He doesn't say another word to you.

You don't care. He's much less annoying when he keeps his gob shut.

Marvel disappears into the gym and you know you are next. You swing your legs idly, clicking your tongue. You realise the girl opposite you – District 5? 6? You don't know and you don't care – is watching you silently. You smirk at her and she shrinks away, wrapping her arms around her middle and folding in on herself like she's made of paper. _Weak_, you think scathingly.

And then before you know it, you hear your name announced over the speakers. You stand, giving your arms a quick showy stretch, and then you set off towards the gym, your movements confident, your head held high.

You strut through the gym doors and the Gamemakers turn at the sound.

"Alright Clove," Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, says as you saunter to a stop in the centre of the room. "Show us what you've got."

And so you do.

You are in your element, whirling and spinning, knives flying from your hands and hitting target after target... near, far, still or even moving. You are graceful, you are lethal, you are _brilliant. _You are so completely absorbed in what you're doing, the endorphins racing through your veins so intense you feel positively _high_, that Seneca Crane has to call your name four times before you stop, a little dazed, a knife still clutched in your hand.

"You are dismissed, Clove." Crane continues neutrally and you manage a nod. Slowly, you put down the knife and make your way from the room.

Enobaria meets you outside.

"How did it go?"

You shrug.

"Good."

She frowns at you.

"Are you sure? You look at bit... out of it?" You glare at her and she smiles, her pointed teeth glinting wickedly. "Ah," She chuckles. "That's more like it."

You shove past her and stalk back through the entrance hall into the elevators, slamming your fist into the button for level 2.

You're starting to worry that you didn't do enough. Your knife throwing was flawless, but maybe you should have done something else; shown off your talents with a spear, perhaps, or even your passable skills with a sword. Maybe you should have illustrated your speed, your versatility, your _flexibility_.

And won't the fact that you got so absorbed in murdering dummies you didn't hear Crane call out to you count _against_ you? You were almost hypnotised, completely mesmerised by the stretch of the muscles in your arm, the sound of the knife hitting its target, the dizziness of hitting dummy after dummy... But you should have caught hold of yourself, you should have paid more attention, stayed more focused and detached.

But it's too late now.

You already know your interview angle is going to be 'utterly terrifying' and that's fine, you can do that... but you also know that to make it convincing, you'll have to get an outstanding skills score.

And if Cato beats you... Your hands clench into fists just _thinking _about the smug smile you know he'll give you.

The elevator doors ping open and you storm into your bedroom, flopping face first into the bed. You haven't blown it, you know, but you think you might have knocked a few points off the perfect score you really really wanted.

Of course, it isn't long until you hear Cato arrive back in the apartment. You stay where you are, hoping he'll be smart enough to leave you alone.

No such luck.

"Clove?" He calls from just outside your door. You let out a snarl, muffled by your pillows, but don't answer. "Clove, I know you're in there." Cato continues and you can hear the restrained laughter in his voice. "I heard you growl." You say a rude word and this time he does laugh. "Can I come in?" He asks.

"No." You reply, but the door opens anyway. You sit up, enraged. "Get out!"

He shuts the door behind him.

"Did you mess up your session?" He asks, ignoring your furious command.

"No!" You growl. "Now get out!"

"I think you did." He says teasingly. "You don't look very happy."

"I did _not_ mess it up."

"Well then," His blond eyebrows raise. "What's the problem?"

"I just..." You falter. "I didn't show them anything other than my knife throwing."

He lets out a bark of laughter.

"Clove! You're _brilliant_ at knife throwing. Why would you show them anything else?"

You blink at him, faintly startled by his compliments.

"What did you do?" You ask. He shrugs.

"I hacked a few dummies to pieces. Threw a couple of spears. Played around with an axe." He smirks. "Threw my sword a lot."

"See?" You flop dramatically back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "You showed them _different_ things. You showed them you can use _any_ weapon."

You hear him move across the room and then you feel the bed dip as he sits beside you.

"Yeah." He says quietly. "Because I'm not brilliant at one particular skill like you are. I'm good with everything, but you're _amazing_ at throwing knives."

You lie there, unmoving, unable to think of a way to reply.

The room is suddenly very silent and the air crackles with a previously unknown kind of intensity. You're very aware of the heat of Cato's body near your thigh, closer to you than it has ever been without one of you wanting to kill the other.

You're about to stand up and leg it, when he speaks.

"But tell anyone I said that and you're dead." He tells you sharply and all of a sudden, the spell is broken and you let out a dry laugh, sitting up to look at him.

"Oh Cato." You say. "I'm looking forward to when it's just you and me. You're my only worthy opponent."

A grin spreads across his face.

"Why, was that a _compliment_, Clove?"

You narrow your eyes at him.

"Yes..." You say. "But tell anyone I said that and you're dead."

He chuckles as he hears his own words shot back at him.

"Fair enough, I guess." And then he stands and makes his way towards your bedroom door. He pauses in the doorway. "Oh but Clove?" He says, turning back to smirk at you. "I'm still going to get a higher training score than you."

You lob a pillow at his head, but he ducks out of the door, chuckling away to himself like a mad man. You flop back down on the bed, your lips pursed.

Jerk.

* * *

…

* * *

It isn't long before you're sat in front of the television, watching as that dude with blue hair reads out the training scores.

Glimmer gets an 9, so does Marvel. If you don't get higher than them, you swear you're going to smash something. And then your picture flashes up on screen, along with a...

A 10.

_Yes_.

Your chin lifts and a smirk finds its way across your face.

"Good work, Clove." Lyme says from next to you.

In the corner of your eye, you see Cato lean forward a little in his chair, tensing up as his name appears on screen. You know he wants to beat you. You hope he doesn't.

And then... a 10. He gets a 10.

He's not happy, you can tell. It's a good score, but it's not higher than yours. You let out a little cackle and he turns, glaring at you.

"What's wrong, Cato?" You ask innocently.

"How the hell did you get a 10?" He growls.

"Well," You say in a sing song voice. "I _am_ amazing." You can't help it. You have to say it. "You said so yourself, Cato."

With a roar of anger, he lunges for you. But Lyme is there and she wraps solid arms around his waist, keeping him from tearing you apart. Of course, Cato is so flipping strong, it takes Enobaria, both of your stylists and a good deal of yelling and shoving to get him back in the chair.

You, however, haven't moved and have spent the last thirty seconds or so laughing loudly as everyone else grappled with your furious district partner. You should probably be scared, but you know he can't hurt you.

Not yet, anyhow.

And besides, in the arena, you'll have your knives to keep him under control. You don't want to have to kill him early on, but you're not completely opposed to it. After all, if he goes for you, you'll have to protect yourself...

But then Enobaria snaps at you to _stop it_, and so with one last chuckle, you subside, leaning back into your chair and watching as they fight to control Cato. A few seconds later, he stops struggling against them and slumps backwards, arms folded, positively steaming with anger.

"What the hell was that about?" Enobaria says. Cato shoots a glower in your direction.

"Nothing."

You think your mentor might be about to give him a lecture, when all of a sudden, every single person stills.

Because the blue haired guy has reached district 12 and if you've heard what you though you'd heard, then you may have a problem...

Your head snaps to the side to see _Katniss Everdeen's_ face on screen. Along with a socking great 11.

11. The girl got an _11_.

"How the _hell_?" You snarl.

Nobody answers. You guess nobody knows.

There's about ten seconds of shocked silence, and then all hell breaks loose, because Cato _explodes_.

You've never seen him so angry. Not even after the chariot rides. He rants like a lunatic, smashing his huge fists into artwork, vases, sculptures... anything that gets in his way.

You watch with a strange sense of detachment as he storms into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. You all stand silently, listening as he trashes his room.

Lyme sighs.

"They've only just cleaned his room up from the last time..."

They start talking about something or other, but you're not listening. You're too busy trying to work out how on earth that girl from 12 got an 11. She beat you. Heck, she beat _Cato_. She's got to have some sort of talent, but what?

You're furious about this, definitely. But not insanely furious like Cato is. Your fury is a kind of cold, slow burning fury... a fury that will ensure Katniss dies at your hand in the arena. And slowly too.

She was already on your 'to kill' list.

You move her to the top.

* * *

…

* * *

The next day passes in a flash (you spend most of it ignoring your mentors prattling on and on about 'interview angles' and 'smiling') and then it's almost time for your interview.

Your nitwit of a stylist puts you in a pretty golden dress, flat ballet pumps and a sparkly headband, leaving your dark hair to flow down your back. You look about ten.

Cato laughs so hard when he sees you that he can hardly stay upright, but you're the one laughing when his stylist produces a sparkly bow tie.

He throws a tantrum and after twenty minutes of wild ranting and red faced yelling, his stylist backs down and finds him a less ostentatious tie. You wish you'd kicked up a similar fuss, but you're aware that there are already cameras on you and a tantrum doesn't fit your image. Cato is hot headed and vicious. You are cool and calculating.

Enobaria warns you not to mess this interview up and you roll your eyes. Of _course_ you won't. You are fully aware that sponsors will be vital in the arena, no matter how good you are with a knife.

After a last fiddle with your hair, your stylist sends you off and on your way, and then it's not too long before Glimmer is flouncing on stage in a see through dress. You're not even lying. It's _actually_ see through. You can see _everything_.

Cato, sitting next to you, can barely tear his eyes away. Your lips press together into a thin line.

Of course, it's then that Cato glances towards you.

"What's wrong, Clove?" He smirks. "You look like you've sucked a lemon." You snarl at him and he laughs. "Jealous?"

"No." You spit. "She looks like a whore."

He shrugs.

"I'm not complaining."

_Ooh_, you want to smack him one. He makes you so _mad_. You have to clutch the arms of your chair to stop yourself from leaping on him and punching him in his stupid face.

Marvel goes on stage next but you don't listen because you're too busy glaring daggers at Glimmer who's now back in her seat at the edge of the stage and simpering across you at Cato. You're sure you're not really missing much, though. Marvel is a fool anyway.

Three minutes later though, Caesar Flickerman (because that's what you've found out the blue haired interviewer's name is) is waving Marvel off stage and calling your name. You stand, smoothing out your dress, and stroll on stage.

The audience cheers you as you take a seat and Caesar asks you how you are. He then comments on how cute you look. The audience laughs in delight as your face sets into a scowl.

The interview goes well from there on. You're cold, you're sour tempered, you're _terrifying _and the audience loves it. You're actually starting to enjoy yourself too (you're moody and snappish and no one's telling you off), and when the buzzer sounds, it's all too soon. Caesar thanks you and you give the audience one last cool smile, before heading back to your seat.

Cato is up next of course. He saunters on stage, calm and collected, shoot charming winks and smiles the women in the front row. They practically faint under his blue eyed gaze.

"Well Cato," Flickerman beams at my district partner as he sits down. "It's good to have you here."

Cato rests his ankle on his other knee, leaning casually back into the chair.

"It's good to _be_ here, Caesar."

The interview continues in a like manner. Cato, relaxed and friendly, replying to Caesar's questions, laughing a little. He's lucky. He doesn't need to work to seem intimidating. His sheer size does that for him.

"Got a message for the sponsors?" Caesar asks near the end of the interview and Cato nods.

"Yes... Just that I'm vicious and raring to go. I want to win and I'll fight for it."

"I'm sure you will." Caesar smiles and then the buzzer sounds. "Well, thank you, Cato. Best of luck in the arena, although I'm sure you don't need it." The audience cheers excitedly as Cato struts off stage and he rewards them with a final winning smile and jaunty salute.

He takes his seat next to you, smugness rolling from him in waves. He's trying to catch your attention, you can tell, but you ignore him. If he's looking for adoration then he's looking in the wrong place.

He gives in eventually and leans down to talk in your ear.

"What did you think?" He whispers teasingly. You keep your gaze firmly fixed on the tribute on stage. "Pretty hot, wasn't I?"

You turn at that and find his face too close. You can feel his breath on your lips and it's unsettling to say the least. But you won't move away. That's too much like backing down.

"If you're looking for someone to sing your praises," You say steadily. "Then I'm sure Glimmer is available after the interviews."

He chuckles softly.

"You really _are_ jealous, aren't you?"

You do your best to remain unruffled.

"No." You say, raising a brow. "I just think she's a fool. You two would make a lovely couple."

His eyebrows lower at that and you know you've irritated him.

Nothing new there though.

"Yeah, well." He mutters sourly. "I might just go find her afterwards then."

And then he turns away, leaning back in his chair and crossing his ankles. To anyone else, he seems calm enough, but you saw the annoyance in his blue eyes, you know you got to him.

And you don't know why, but getting to Cato is even more satisfying than sending one of your blades straight into a dummy's heart.

* * *

...

* * *

_Ahaha Clove's a right one, isn't she? As you've probably guessed, Clove doesn't much like Glimmer. I know a lot of people write those two as friends, but I don't think that's as fun. And besides, in my mind, Clove hates everyone. Except Cato. Maybe. We'll see ;)_

_Oh and I forgot to mention, I've changed it so it's Lyme and Enobaria who are this years mentors. I'd originally put Brutus in there instead of Lyme. But yes, I have plans..._

_Hope you enjoyed this anyway. Please review xx_


	3. In Cold Blood

_Ahh I do apologise for how long I've left this! Writer's block ;) And I've been working on my other stories too._

_Anyways, just a few notes:_

_- I've changed the rating to M now. It's kind of bloody from now on._

_- I've named the boy from 3 Nelson which is the surname of the kid who plays him in the film. The girl from 4 is called Tara (again the actor's name, although the first name) and the boy is called Jamie after Ethan Jamieson. I was going to use his first name, but well, it was Ethan and that's the name of Annie Cresta's district partner in my other fic._

_- As for canon. The Games may follow it for the most part (until Clove's death though obvs, 'cause then I'll change it from there) but I don't know yet. I'm definitely messing with the timeline and other little details, but yeah, whatever, I'm just going to do what I like ;)_

_Right, as always, please review :D I hope you enjoy this xx_

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE - IN COLD BLOOD**

* * *

You can't sleep that night.

You lie on your bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the interviews over and over in your head and getting more and more agitated. You thought you and Cato had done well. None of the other tributes even came close to your cool confidence and Cato's charming charisma...

That was until Katniss Everdeen started spinning like a flipping fairy and her dress _exploded_. It was the chariot rides all over again. You and Cato overshadowed once more by the _girl on fire_. And it got even worse when that blonde boy – you can't remember his name – trundled on stage and announced to the world he's in love with his district partner. It was smart, very _smart_, and suddenly all the Capitol audience wanted talk about was the star crossed lovers of district 12. You're sure that if you switched on the television now, they'd still be prattling on about it.

Ugh.

With a little growl of irritation, you roll out of bed and stumble into the living room, your bare feet sinking into the thick carpet as you move to stand in front of the huge windows. You stare out through glass at the illuminated fountain in the courtyard below. It's the first time you've actually seen it empty; you were starting to think Capitol people never slept.

You let out a huge sigh. You hate that there's a nervous flutter beginning in the pit of your stomach; you thought you were better than that.

You expect Cato is probably sleeping like a baby right now. You know you should really try and get some sleep too – tiredness affects your aim – but you're too hyped up on an odd mix of nerves and excitement and irritation.

"Can't sleep?"

You start a little at his voice but don't turn. You take a second to steady your voice, to erase all traces of apprehension before you speak. If he realises you're anxious, he'll never let you live it down.

You run an idle finger along the window ledge.

"Just excited." You say with a shrug.

He joins you at the window and you're oddly unnerved at the tightness of his t-shirt.

"You're not nervous, are you Clove?" He asks teasingly. You shoot him a sidelong glare.

"_No_." You say and he smirks, turning to you and resting his hip against the ledge, his arms folded across his broad chest. "_You_ obviously couldn't sleep either." You point out bitingly but he just laughs.

"I just heard you get out of bed. You woke me up."

You don't quite believe him and a smirk of your own settles across your lips. You take a step forward until you're standing right in front of him, until you can feel the heat of his body ghosting across your skin. His stomach muscles tense, but he doesn't move, and satisfied he's thoroughly uncomfortable, you tilt your chin up, gaze lifting to meet his eyes.

You raise a mischievous eyebrow.

"Don't worry, Cato." You say wickedly before raising yourself up on your toes so your breath whispers across his lips. "I won't tell anyone you're _afraid_."

Irritation creases his features and you let out a throaty chuckle, dropping back on your heels and stepping away.

"I'm _not_ afraid." He says with a scowl. You laugh again, pulling yourself up to sit on the window ledge, swinging your legs teasingly.

"Uh huh."

"I'm _not_."

"I've already told you." You say mirthfully, pleased the pressure is firmly back on him. "I won't tell anyone."

He moves forward, leaning in close – too close – and resting a hand on the ledge right next to your thigh. He's so close you have to tilt your head back against the cool glass of the window.

"I'm _not_ afraid." He hisses, his eyes flashing angrily. "I can kill anyone in that arena. _Anyone_. And no one will escape me." He bares his teeth in a fierce snarl. "Not even you, Clove."

You hate to admit it, but you're just a little perturbed. There's something about being bare footed and dressed in nothing but a flimsy shirt that makes you feel vulnerable. You need the solid weight of a knife belt, the protection of pockets filled with hidden blades. Unarmed you might be able to take down Marvel or Glimmer or even Katniss Everdeen.

But not Cato. Never Cato.

You make a silent promise to yourself to never _ever_ be caught unarmed in the arena.

Cato is still waiting for your reply, his eyes slightly narrowed as you regard him silently. You refuse to show your fear, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of frightening you, and so, breaking his gaze, you push at his chest and slip off the ledge, starting back across the room towards your bedroom. You keep your stride slow, your steps confident.

And then when you reach the door, you stop, lifting a casual hand to rest on the door post. You turn your head, not far enough to meet his eyes, just far enough so he can see your expression; cool, calm, uncaring.

"Good night, Cato." You say indifferently. "I'll see you in the morning."

You can see him staring at you, still standing at the window, his lips parted in silent confusion. He obviously expected you to back down, to admit you were wrong, maybe even stammer a little. But you're strong, as strong as he is, even if it's in a different way.

You shut the door behind you, allowing a self satisfied smile to trace your lips for a moment, before sliding slowly into bed. You stare up at the ceiling again, but this time drowsiness overtakes you. You fall asleep quickly and spend the rest of the night unconscious, dreaming of meadows, silver blades and sky blue eyes.

* * *

…

* * *

The next morning passes quickly. You don't see much of Cato, just a passing glimpse as the two of you are led to separate rooms in the hovercraft, and then you're on your way to the arena. Your stylist chatters incessantly, offering you various food and drink, but you ignore her steadfastly, focusing instead on maintaining your inner calm. You're not particularly anxious, but you know the bloodbath will be chaotic and disorientating. To survive and to take out as many tributes as possible, you know you'll have to keep your cool.

The windows black out and you know you're nearly there. There's a twinge of excitement in your stomach.

You imagine what it'll be like to kill someone for the first time. Power. You imagine you'll feel a surge of power. Satisfaction too, maybe? And blood lust. You mustn't forget the blood lust; you'll have to control that if you want to win. Practically every year of your life, you've watched Careers drown in blood lust. Sometimes, it's a good thing. You expect Cato is the kind of person to thrive on blind, raging blood lust, but you, you need to keep focused.

His blood is as hot as fire. Yours is as cold as ice.

* * *

...

* * *

In your launch room, your stylist dresses you despite your protestations. It's a good outfit, though, you decide. Khaki coloured trousers, loose fitting and flexible, tough supple boots and thick warm socks, a dark red top (the exact colour of blood, you think with a smirk) a dark brown leather jacket and a waterproof windbreaker – again in a rather flattering deep red. Not exactly the best colour for camouflage, though.

Your stylist scrapes your dark hair from your face, tying it up in a tight ponytail, before whipping out her make up box. You glare at her.

"No make up."

She sighs but doesn't push it. No one _ever_ pushes it with you. Well, except for Cato maybe.

And then suddenly, a pleasant feminine voice is announcing that there's thirty seconds to launch. Straightening your jacket, you step into the metal plate, tossing your hair as the glass cylinder closes around you. From the other side of the glass, your stylist gives you a thumbs up and you acknowledge her with a slight nod.

A few seconds later, you hear the plate above you slide smoothly open and sunlight spills across your face.

Five seconds.

You set your stance, clenching your fists and lifting your chin proudly. You know the second your plate rises into the arena, you will be in full view of the cameras and therefore the rest of Panem.

And then you're rising upwards and your breath quickens with exhilaration. This is it, you think. This is what you were born to do.

You emerge in a large clearing, the sun warming the back of your neck as the metal plate slowly grinds to a halt. The large booming voice of the Games announcer echoes out across the grass

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 74th Hunger Games begin."

The digitalised timer, mounted at the mouth of the cornucopia, begins its steady descent from sixty. You shift a little from foot to foot, eyes darting around the clearing, taking in the arena – wood, a field filled with tall grass, a large lake – and then focusing in on the goodies at the cornucopia.

Your mouth nearly waters as you spot the endless supplies of weapons right at the mouth. As soon as the gong sounds, your first priority will be getting your hands on some knives – you spot an open box of blades a little way from the cornucopia and make it your goal. You'll have to run fast though. You might not need to worry about the other Careers, but you're pretty sure there are other tributes who'll want to try and take you out early on.

With your aim in mind, you look around at the other tributes. You see Glimmer and Marvel – you let out a snort when he winks at you – and then you spot Cato. He's standing tall, huge muscles tense, golden hair glinting in the sunlight. As you watch him, his eyes swivel towards you and, smirk forming on his lips, he lifts his hand in a jaunty salute. You grin back partly because you're so exhilarated, partly because the audience will love your carefree little exchange.

Laughing a little, Cato gestures towards the cornucopia in a _don't you think we should concentrate?_ kind of gesture. You shrug, pulling a face, and he shakes his head, a grin still on his face, before turning back to focus in on the weapons.

You turn back too, realising there's only ten seconds on the counter. _Focus_, you tell yourself sharply. You have plenty of time later to prove your confidence to the audience. You lean forward a little, every muscle tensing and in silence of the clearing, all you can hear is your own heartbeat. Every limb tingles in anticipation as adrenaline and apprehension and excitement strums through your body. You feel like a live wire.

Your eyes zero in on the knives as the timer hits three.

Two.

One.

The gong sounds and without hesitation, you leap from the plate, sprinting towards the cornucopia, boots pounding on the dry ground, hair whipping out behind you. Coloured jackets blur around you and you're aware of the first scream.

You reach your knives in seconds, grabbing as many as you can hold in your hands. Oh, they're beautiful, solid curved handles, glinting silver blades... You shake your head a little. Later. Later you can appreciate their beauty. Now, it's time to put them to good use. Shoving all but one in your jacket pocket, you take off again, glancing rapidly around to check no one is attacking you, before heading towards your new found prey, a girl with light brown hair who's rummaging through a large black container. She looks up and panic streaks across her face. Squinting slightly, you lift your arm, taking aim... and then a huge figure looms up behind her. The girl's body convulses and you see a sword explode out from her chest, piercing clothing and spattering blood.

You slow to a jog, your knife faltering.

Cato whips the sword out of the dead girl's back with a smirk, letting the body fall limply to the floor. You glower at him but he's already off, chasing down another victim. With a snarl of irritation, you spin on your heel and break into a run, spotting a sprinting boy in a blue jacket a little way out. You position your knife straight at his back – you see him stop and raise an axe high above his head – and then with a grunt, you let it fly.

The blade soars through the air and then hits its mark, right between the shoulder blades. He takes a few seconds to fall – in the mean time, you glance around again for more possible attackers – but when you look back and he's on the floor, you see whom his axe was aimed at.

Katniss Everdeen.

_Yes! _You sprint off again, eyes fixed greedily on your newest victim. She sees you coming and you're satisfied to see a look of pure terror cross her face. Scrabbling slightly, she turns and legs it, racing off towards the trees. You pull another knife from your pocket and taking aim, waste no time in sending it shooting like a bullet across the clearing at Everdeen.

At the last second, she yanks her backpack up to protect her head and the knife buries itself in the thick canvas.

You say a bad word – caught for a moment between staying here to go after more tributes and chasing down Everdeen – but then you make a split second decision and you take off after her, another knife already in your hand.

You dash across the grass, determination in your jaw, knowing that once she's in the forest, she'll be harder to catch. But she's still got that damn rucksack protecting her head and back and you won't be able to get a good shot. And then she hits the tree line and a curse slips through your lips. You accelerate after her, reaching the forest a few seconds after she does. You spot that bright orange rucksack between the trees up ahead and smirking to yourself, follow it, the dried leaves crunching loudly underfoot as you run.

And then you've got a clear shot. You take aim and...

Someone ploughs straight into you, taking you down to the hard ground, all the air leaving your lungs. Your attacker rolls you over and over, your knife slipping through your grasp, but even as you gasp frantically for breath, you know you've got to react. And fast.

Now on top of you, the girl raises a a huge knife right above your chest. You're suddenly furious – because she thinks she can kill you, because she stopped you from going after Everdeen – and with a scream of anger, you throw her off you, rolling on top of her and pinning her to the ground with knees to her upper arms.

"Thought you could go after me, did you?" You snarl as she struggles helplessly beneath you. "What district are you? 6?" She nods tearfully. "6. Right." You pull out another knife from your pocket and on seeing it, the girl lets out a blood curdling screech. You let out a cold laugh. "Sorry, no victor for district 6 this year."

And then you slash the knife across her throat, the blade slicing through skin like butter. Blood explodes from the wound, spraying you across the face but you find that you don't even flinch.

You stay where you are, holding the girl down as her struggles end and then you stand. You leave the bloody knife on the floor beside the body – you'll have loads at the cornucopia – before turning and heading back through trees towards the clearing, wiping your damp face across your sleeve.

Something strangely hollow settles in the pit of your stomach but you shake it off.

You came here to win. You came here to kill.

* * *

…

* * *

"Hey Clove!" Glimmer calls as you appear in the clearing. You lift your hand in greeting, before breaking into a jog towards the cornucopia. The bloodbath seems pretty much over. Bodies litter the clearing and Glimmer is already sorting through boxes. The girl from district 4 – you should probably find out her name – is bent over a slumped body, pleading quietly, wrapping some already blood stained bandages around the kid's leg. Cato is standing next to them, arms folded, expression irritated.

He perks up a little when he notices you though, striding over to meet you.

"You survived then?" He grins. You look offended.

"Of _course_."

His eyes flicker down towards the blood smeared across your face and throat.

"Looks like you had some trouble."

You shrug.

"Not mine."

He laughs, but his expression clouds as whomever the district 4 girl is tending to lets out a cry of pain.

"Who's that?" You ask.

"Jamie." He replies with a roll of the eyes. When you look none the wiser he chuckles. "District 4. I slashed him by accident."

"Isn't he an ally?" You ask, unimpressed. He shrugs.

"I didn't mean to. I got caught up in the bloodbath and he got in my way."

"How bad is it?"

Cato look sheepish.

"Really bad."

"Hey guys!" Marvel shouts, suddenly appearing from behind the cornucopia, dragging someone by the scruff of their neck. "Look what I've found!"

Glimmer bounds over to where you and Cato are standing as Marvel drags the kid over. It's a boy, the boy from 3 if you're not mistaken. He's alive and uninjured and you wonder what the hell Marvel is playing at.

"What are you _doing_, Marvel?" Glimmer asks, eyeing the wriggling boy with distaste.

"He says he can be useful." Marvel says, dropping the kid on the floor in front of you all. The boy sits up and catching your eye, shrinks away, fear in his expression. The blood you haven't managed to wipe off your face yet might have something to do with that.

"Oh yeah?" Cato asks, nudging the kid with his foot. "What can you do?"

The kid cowers away from your hulking great district partner, his mouth opening and shutting, no sound coming out.

"Tell 'em, kid." Marvel says encouragingly.

"I, uh." He begins hoarsely, before clearing his throat. "I'm real good at rewiring." He says. "I'm pretty sure that, um, with a bit of time, I can reactivate the bombs." He gestures towards the metal plates you were all stood upon before the gong sounded.

"And what use would that have?" Glimmer asks, tossing her hair. You roll your eyes.

"God, Glimmer," You say irritably. "Why are you so stupid?" Her perfectly shaped eyebrows crease as she frowns confusedly at you, but you ignore her, crouching down beside the kid. "Do you have the tools to do that?" You ask him. He nods slowly.

"I think so."

"We can use the bombs to protect our supplies." You tell the others. "That way we won't need a guard, or we can use them in traps." You look at the kid. "Is that what you had in mind?" He nods again.

"We should keep him around." Marvel says. "He's useful."

You stand, frowning as you notice Glimmer idly inspecting her sparkly pink nails.

"More useful than little miss manicure over there." You say scathingly. Her head jerks up and she shoots you a glare.

"I'll go start sorting supplies." She snaps, turning on her heel and heading back towards the boxes. You smirk after her, and Cato nudges you in the ribs. He's obviously trying to chastise you, but the glint in his eyes lets you know he might enjoy the odd girl fight.

"What's your name, kid?" Marvel asks, looking back down at the district 3 boy.

"Nelson." He replies nervously.

"Right Nelson, that's Cato, Clove," Marvel says pointing to you and your partner. "I'm Marvel, that's Tara and Jamie," He points over to where Tara is still tending to her district partner. "And the primadonna over there," He says with a chuckle, turning to nod towards his district partner. "Is Glimmer."

Nelson gives you all a nervous smile.

"Hi."

The Gamemakers choose that moment to set off the cannons. You count interestedly.

_Ten_. Not half bad. Only fourteen left. Still, that's thirteen too many.

"How many of those were yours?" Cato asks and you see the challenge in the quirk of his lips.

"Two." You say. He raises a blonde eyebrow.

"Oh." And that's all he says. You heave a great big sigh, but humour him.

"Okay." You say, drawing out the sound reluctantly. "How many did you kill?"

"Three." He smirks. You roll your eyes. That's only one more than you.

"What? Do you want an award?"

He lets out a guffaw before opening his mouth to answer.

"Wow." Glimmer interrupts, reappearing next to you. "Ten dead already. That's pretty good."

You're about to shrug and reply that it could have been better, when another cannon fires. A little way away, you hear Tara let out a sad sigh, and you turn to see her stand very slowly, her shoulders drooping. Jamie lies lifeless on the floor beside her.

"Make that eleven." Glimmer says softly.

There is a silence and Tara's gaze, now fixed firmly on Cato, turns accusative. She might have been about to stay something, but Cato gives her such a scowl, she subsides without a word. You wonder if Cato feels bad - Jamie was supposed to be an ally after all - but your district partner's expression is unreadable.

"We should move out." Marvel says eventually. "To let them pick up the bodies."

He moves off across the clearing, closely shadowed by Nelson, who's apparently decided Marvel is the only one he wants to trust.

As you all follow them, Cato sticks with you.

"Did you get her?" He asks, striding across the grass and trying to look nonchalant. You know who he's talking about, of course. Who else?

"No." You say, watching as the hovercraft moves in over the cornucopia. "The girl from 6 tackled me and by the time I'd sorted her out, Everdeen was long gone."

He lets out a snort of laughter and you hear relief in the sound. He wants to kill her himself just as much as you do.

"I'm guessing it's 6's blood you're covered in, then." He says. You nod.

"Sprayed a bit more than I expected." You reply distractedly. The hovercraft has moved out to pick up what you assume is the body of the girl from 6.

Neither of you speak for a few minutes.

That strange hollowness is back and you lean against a tree trunk, puzzlement creasing your brow. You never expected this. You never thought you'd feel anything but satisfaction after your first kills. It's what you've been trained for all your life, after all.

Glimmer produces a bag of something sweet she's plucked from one of the boxes before you moved out and your stomach rumbles.

Huh. Maybe you're just hungry.

* * *

...

* * *

_GASP! Can Clove have a conscience? Nah I think she just needs some sugar. Thanks for reading, please review xxx_

_Next Chapter: Clove stumbles across one Mr Mellark, the Pack go hunting and Cato & Clove play rock, paper, scissors..._


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